Nothing A Little Rum Can’t Fix
by EvilKittyCalico
Summary: This wasn’t what Giles meant when he said he wanted a vacation. Xover w POTC
1. Bad news Toto

Title: Nothing A Little Rum Can't Fix  
Rating: PG-13  
Author: Evil Kitty (mean_kitty@earthlink.net)  
Spoilers: S4 BtVS and, obviously, Pirates of the Caribbean.  
Disclaimer: PotC belongs to Disney, as does the Pirates theme song from the park attraction. BtVS is likewise not mine, and I am merely borrowing a character or two for an afternoon of fun.   
A/N- Meant to be a little silly. ;) Takes place right after the movie.   
Summery: This wasn't what Giles meant when he said he wanted a vacation.  


Chapter 1 - Bad news Toto....  
  
We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot.  
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!  
We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot.  
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!   


  
  
Giles caught the bartender's eye with a raised finger, asking for a bottle of Bushmills and a glass when the man finally made his way over. The bar was quite crowded, not surprising when you considered that it was the only form of entertainment outside of television that could be found within two-hundred or so miles.  
  
You sure? The man eyed him up and down dubiously, and Giles bristled. He may be the oldest customer present, but that didn't mean that he couldn't drink every biker present under the table.   
  
I wouldn't have ordered it otherwise, he snapped. The bartender shrugged, reaching under the counter for a shot glass and pulling a bottle down from the wall behind him. Giles slapped a twenty on the scarred wood counter and retreated to the table in the farthest corner from the door, where he could have his back in a corner. The gloom suited his current mood, and it would allow him to watch everyone else. The table's close proximity to the stage speakers assured that he would be drinking alone. He didn't mind it himself. If he hadn't lost his hearing by now, it wasn't going anywhere.  
  
The chair was lower than it should have been, and he bit back a moan as he set himself down. He was in excellent shape for his age, for any age, but pushing a car for a mile then walking five more had his muscles severely protesting any further movement. The whiskey was crap, as he'd known it would be, but at least it was Irish. Damned impossible to get decent alcohol in this country. The cover band playing was better than expected, and he wondered if they'd come here on purpose, or if their cars had broken down like his had. As Buffy had once said, Ultimate Driving Machine' my ass. They were mixing fast paced country western with some classic rock songs, and he found himself silently lip-syncing along to an old Doors hit, Roadhouse Blues. Jim Morrison had been extremely lucky, he mused. He'd died young, to be forever remembered as young and handsome, never to suffer the indignities of growing old. Giles couldn't remember the exact moment at which he'd first realized that he had more years behind him than waited ahead, but could well remember the bout of depression it caused.  
  
His car wouldn't be ready for another day or two, since the mechanics had to order the parts for it. This glorified truck shop that people kept referring to as a city had a single small motel, and he'd been able to book himself a room at an outrageous price. In hindsight, he should have opened his pockets enough to get the Doloses Chalice sent down from Oregon by US Mail, even if the damn thing did weigh nigh on a hundred stone. He'd balked at paying any more when he'd already paid for it to come down by Fed-Ex, and he hadn't wanted to wait the extra month that he'd been told it would take. The warehouse personnel had chosen an extremely inconvenient time to strike, sodding bastards one and all. Besides, how much trouble could it be to drive straight up the state?  
  
He tipped back another shot of whiskey, as the band paused for a short break. A hundred years ago Watchers didn't have these problems. No worries about getting your sacred ancient artifact through airport security. No worry about the trade caravans being waylaid by negotiations with the teamsters No shortage of Watchers that could be sent out to bring something back. No Anya running off to the gas station with his credit card. He hastily grabbed up his glass as an armload of snack foods was dumped on the table.  
  
she said happily, they have shrunken M&Ms. Like large M&Ms, but small. Isn't that neat? Small M&Ms! What will they think of next? Anya had never been to this part of California before, either as human or demon. She'd refused to be dissuaded from coming, and Tara had foiled his strongest excuse by offering to run the Magic Box for the two days they were supposed to be gone. Tara was no longer on his Christmas card list.  
  
Quite remarkable. I thought you were going to stay at the motel?  
  
She stole a chair from a nearby table and sat down across from him, waving her hand as if to dismiss the idea. The room smells badly and the couple next door are very loud while having sex.   
  
He was going to need more alcohol. Lots more alcohol. Let's hear a hearty huzzah for whoever discovered the distillation process.  
  
I know her! Anya exclaimed suddenly, just as he was tipping the shot glass back to take a drink. She startled him into spilling whiskey down the front of his shirt.  
  
He'd dumped the entire glass on himself, and he didn't have a change of clothes handy. The stain would dry, but he'd reek to high heaven the rest of the trip, unless he went out and bought a change of clothes along the way.  
  
Sorry. But, I know her!  
  
  
She pointed towards a group of bikers that had just come in, dusty from the road and decked out in leather. A slim redhead led them towards the bar. We ran into each other in Crete during the first World War.   
  
Is she a threat?  
  
She had to think about it before she answered. That was never a good sign.   
  
No. She grants wishes for the under appreciated and oppressed. I am only slightly under appreciated and not oppressed, so she should have no reason to dislike you.   
  
The girl turned towards them then, and Anya stood up to wave. Recognition flashed on the other's face, and she made her way towards their table while the rest of her group settled down nearer the door. She was bordering on being too thin to be aesthetically pleasing, all sharp points and angles where curves should be. Indecent red leather pants bled into high-heeled black boots that clicked against the concrete floor as she walked. She didn't appear to be wearing anything under her half-unzipped bomber jacket.   
  
Anyanka? Is that really you? You're human! The last bit was said in a tone that left no question of whether or not she saw that as an improvement. She came to the very edge of the table, but made no move to sit down.  
  
Anya shrugged. Yes, but I try to not let that get in my way. Why are you here? I like your pants. Giles cleared his throat, and they both turned to look at him.  
  
Rupert Giles, he said, and you.....  
  
I am called Cnossia. She studied him for a moment, green eyes narrowing slightly. Her gaze shifted back to Anya. Anyanka, who is this man?   
  
So much for being polite. Giles poured himself another drink.  
  
He's my employer, she answered. I work in his magic store and make lots of money. But I'm very appreciated, she added hastily, with a glance in his direction.   
  
I know you are. But I sense that he is not. Tell me Rupert Giles, do you feel as though you need to be liberated? She leaned forward, expression solemn and intent. It so mismatched the rest of her appearance that he fought to keep a straight face.  
  
he chuckled. No, I don't need to be liberated. I just need a long vacation. Perhaps a cruise of some sort, and I just messed up rather badly, didn't I? Anya was staring at him in openmouthed horror, and Cnossis looked as though she'd either won a large amount of money or been given a fuzzy kitten. It wasn't a wish, he said weakly. You had to make a wish for a wish demon to work. It said so in the books.   
  
It didn't need to be, they both answered in unison.  
  
Bloody hell.  
  



	2. we're not in Kansas anymore

*  
Chapter 2 - ...we're not in Kansas anymore.  


  
  


We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack.  
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!  
Maraud and embezzle and even hijack.  
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!   
  


  
He got a quick impression of chaos, wood and water before the wave came over the side of the ship, knocking him back a good fifteen feet. The water was freezing, bitter in his mouth and stinging his eyes. He groped blindly for something to use to haul himself up with, but another wave sent him reeling. The sky was black, whether from night or a storm he couldn't tell, the surface beneath him bucking like an angry horse. It was raining, although it was barely noticeable on top of the sea spray.   
  
People were all around him, shouting and running around like stirred up ants. The deafening roar of the ocean made it impossible to pick out any individual words, but he was fairly sure they spoke in english. They were dressed oddly, and the ship itself seemed to be a reproduction of some sort. His stomach warned him of what was coming if he didn't get on dry land in the next five minutes.  
  
He slid across the deck again as the boat seemed to drop out from underneath him and grabbed onto a rope that came into reach. He wasn't sure where on the ship he was, but the rope held up to his experimental tugs, and he tightened his grip on it. He'd never been one for sailing, and that dislike was firmly reinforced as he vomited onto the wooden deck.   
  
He wasn't sure how long he stayed huddled against the deck, clutching the coarse hemp rope, but it seemed as though several lifetimes had passed before the sky began to lighten and the ship's movements eased from violent to easy. His hands had cramped and gone numb from the cold water, and he had to work each one to get them to straighten. As the waters calmed so did the crew, saving the ship taking a back seat to other matters.  
  
Such as where the strange man on the forecastle deck had come from.  
  
Giles very quickly found his hands bound together and his feet hobbled by a short length of rope, so that he could only take mincing little steps. He was being half led, half-dragged towards the captain's quarters by a stern looking dark skinned woman and a dwarf. They were both as wet as he was, dressed in clothing that he would date at mid seventeenth to early eighteenth century. Very authentic, down to the filth and smell. The woman caught him staring and brought the heel of her boot down on his instep. Giles got some measure of happiness out of the difficulty she had dragging him the rest of the way. Served her right.  
  
she yelled, dropping him in front of a carved wooden door. With his hands tied as they were he couldn't do anything to save himself and his forehead bounced off the deck, making everything blur and waver. His vision righted slowly, and focused on the leather clad feet standing a few inches from his nose. He was pulled roughly to his feet by his hair, biting his tongue to keep from swearing. He was getting to the age where he couldn't afford to have his hair yanked out. No telling if it would decide to come back.  
  
Easy Mr. Gibbs. Needs to be awake to talk to us. The man that spoke was of average height, and dressed like Errol Flynn does glam rock. Giles had to blink a few times to assure himself that what he was looking at was real. A red bandanna kept long hair back from a round face, braided in trinkets and beads standing out against the black. He had a thin mustache and beard, and striking light hazel eyes that were outlined with more kohl than Giles would have been comfortable wearing to a midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. That was keeping in mind that Giles had no qualms about wearing fishnets and high heels to a midnight showing of Rocky Horror. The rest of the ensemble was classic Hollywood pirate, down to the horribly impractical folded over knee length boots. The man was as wet as many of the crew, and Giles guessed that he'd only recently gone inside.   
  
I am Captain Jack Sparrow, he said, with a grand theatrical flourish of his hat. Perhaps you've heard of me?  
  
Giles answered promptly.  
  
Are you sure?  
  
  
  
Oh come now, you must have heard something, The pirate pleaded. His accent wasn't quite like anything Giles had heard before. A touch of Irish, some Mannish - maybe a little French? Terrible pirate, escaped from the gallows of both the Dutch and the English, dashingly handsome and cunning. That ring a bell? I'm quite famous, you know   
  
I think I would remember you, Giles answered with perfect honesty. Jack Sparrow looked crestfallen, a peacock who has just realized that the peahens don't give a damn. He stepped closer to Giles, until their noses nearly touched and peered at him as if looking for something. He dearly wished the other would step back. Giles didn't know if he was naturally swarthy, or if it was the dirt darkening his skin.   
  
Finally, when Giles's eyes had started to water, the pirate stepped back. An Englishman, he said slowly, as if ticking off each point in his head, with an accent that marks noble birth. Clothes of a cut I've never encounter ere today, and he smells like he went swimming in a hogsheade of, he leaned back over and gave Giles another sniff,whiskey, not rum. He turned to the woman who had brought Giles over. Unless he fell from the sky Isabella, I cannot kin how he came to be on the Pearl. Did you? He pivoted sharply on his heel to go nose to nose with Giles again.  
  
Did I what? He leaned back as far as he could without overbalancing or pressing into the dagger he felt at his back.  
  
Fall from the sky?  
  
No...well, yes in a manner of speaking. I rather think I just appeared, but I could have fallen a short ways.  
  
Did it hurt?  
  
No, not rea-, why are you asking me this?  
  
Never met anyone who fell from the sky before, mate. Can't blame a man for being curious. He made a quick motion with one hand and Mr. Gibbs sliced through the ropes binding Giles's hands with his dagger, doing the same to the rope around his ankles. Giles worked his hands with some relief, trying to get the circulation restored. He wasn't sure if he'd gone back in time, a parallel dimension in the same time, or a bit of both.  
  
He's got awfully smooth skin, like a lady. You reckon he's... Gibbs made a suggestive snipping motion with his hand at crotch level. Giles growled. The nerve!   
  
If he ain't a stowaway than he's a witch, and the treatments the same. You want to kill him now Cap'n, or save it for the nights entertainment? Isabella looked as though she was hoping the Captain answered now'.  
  
Come now, lass, if he were a danger he wouldn't be swaying on the deck like a half-drowned kitten, now would he? He'd whip up some spell and do us all in proper. Jack made the answer seem perfectly logical.  
  
Isabella frowned. Giles tried to look harmless, although frankly, he wasn't sure what harmless was supposed to look at. Something small and fluffy, he supposed. Like a baby bunny.   
  
Still needs killin', she muttered sullenly, but her hand moved slowly away from the knife at her belt.   
  
Told him he shouldn't have let her keep the knife, Mr. Gibbs muttered, low, so only Giles could hear. Woman is a menace to mankind, she is.  
  
Jack stepped forward and threw an arm around Giles's shoulders, pulling him close and nearly unbalancing him enough to send him back down to the deck. He had to push off against the man's chest to stay upright. Jack winked at him.   
  
Well that's settled. Welcome to the Black Pearl, mate. Greatest ship to ever raise her sails. Come on in, we'll have some rum.   
  
He gave Giles a shove towards the door, and despite a sudden feeling of foreboding, there wasn't really anything Giles could do but go along. After all, he thought, glancing back at the uninterrupted expanse of water that stretched to the horizon and beyond, he wasn't exactly in a position to leave.  



	3. Rum and Dreams

  


*  
Chapter 3 - Rum and Dreams  


  
  


We kindle and char, inflame and ignite.  
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!  
We burn up the city, we're really a fright.  
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!   
  
  
  


Giles blinked in the sudden darkness of the Captain's quarters, trying to regain his bearings. The moderately sized room was lined with windows, but the glass was so heavily leaded and of such poor quality that it stopped more light than it let in. A large wooden table was the center point of the room, with maps and books and navigational paraphernalia scattered haphazardly across the surface. Captain Jack Sparrow threw himself down in a carved wooden chair, sprawling out like a cat with arms and legs going every which way. He went fishing in a chest behind him and came up with a large glazed clay jug. From the practiced way he flipped it back over his hand and up to his mouth, he was clearly no stranger to being pissed. There were three other chairs around the table. Giles picked the one farthest from the pirate, for a myriad of reasons.  
  
He sat down carefully, all too aware of his numerous sore parts and the chair's lack of anything that came even remotely close to being padding. Several of the books caught his eye as being texts he had come across in his duties as Watcher. They were also note worthy for being incredibly expensive. The volume that the Captain currently had his filthy wet boots propped up on top of had fetched nearly two hundred thousand pounds at auction just the month before last. Giles reached out to run a hand over the cover of the nearest book. _Lusus Natrae_. A demonology text written by the one of original order of the Knights of Byzantium during the Children's crusade. They had made some advances to demonology, in between going berserk tracking down Glorificus. This was perhaps the greatest example of that. His hand shook slightly as he withdrew it. The only known copy had been lost in the mid-eighteenth century. The ship he was on was not a reproduction. It was an original. He'd realized that before now of course, but this confirmed it beyond all doubts and didn't allow him any comforting delusions. He was rather fond of comforting delusions. They were comforting.  
  
Jack offered him the jug, and Giles took it for the sake of politeness. He tried to imitate the way Jack had held it - there hadn't been very many opportunities to drink moonshine out of a homemade jug while growing up in London- and managed to get down a few sips. He didn't waste time handing it back over to Jack. Giles had certainly sampled some less then appealing varieties of liqueur in his lifetime, but he was rather sure that whatever was in that jug was not compatible with human life.   
  
What sort of small talk did one engage in when keeping company with a pirate captain? _So, have you raped any especially attractive women lately? Know any new torture techniques for dealing with the captured sailors? I heard thumb screws are _all _the rage with the Barbary Coast pirates. _Have you been having a profitable trip?  
  
If that's the best you can do, then maybe you're better off leaving the talking to me. He tossed the jug over his shoulder without any apparent though for the furniture, and Giles was the only one to blink at the resulting crash. I've plenty to talk about, so no worries about it being awkward. You see now, I think you're the one whose going to help me.  
  
Help you? Of _course_ he couldn't just get sent back a few centuries to a pirate ship, no! He had to end up with an insane pirate. It wouldn't be proper otherwise. _I should have told family duty to go sod itself and joined the RAF. Wouldn't be stuck on a bloody pirate ship thirty years later if I'd gone and done that, now would I?  
  
_Of course. You're the one who is going to get me into the Tomb of the Kings. had a dream about, I did. Got it all worked out, just waiting for you. One eyebrow went up, as if daring Giles to challenge the point. The man really did have unnaturally mobile facial features. Quite unnerving.   
  
Giles could think of several places that went by that name. None were pleasant. It was possible to visit one or two without engaging in an Indiana Jones style escapade, but still not even remotely close to pleasant. And yet, possibly still better then a pirate ship. This particular subset of history wasn't his forte (you really didn't find all that many vampires on ships, the reason owing something to close quarters, an abundance of large pointy splinters, and men who were used to brawling) but he knew that the ship was not going to have fresh food, fresh water, or bathing facilities. Casualty of civilization that he was, Giles was rather fond of bathing on a schedule more frequent than semiannual and eating food that wasn't fuzzy.   
  
Could you possibly narrow that down somewhat? he asked, after letting the silence grow long. _And please don't say Egypt'_.   
  
Kato Paphos lad! Where else? He leaned forward and slapped the table in his enthusiasm, grinning like a madman the whole while. Ah, I see by your face that you know what I'm speaking of now.  
  
Yes, I have heard of it. _I changed my mind. You're allowed to say Egypt'_. Why are you interested in Kato Paphos? If a pirate was going to sail to Cyprus, I would better understand you aiming for Kouklia, or the baths of Aphrodite. I have at least heard rumors of treasure being found in those places, but Kato Paphos? If you were going to sail off to your doom, you could at least pick a port where there was the option of stopping for a drink beforehand. Not liable to be much whiskey flowing in a Muslim controlled country. But there also wouldn't be any rum, and that was a grand thing indeed. _Silver lining Rupert, must look for the silver lining_.  
  
Because that's where the ruins of Saranta Kolones lie, and buried amongst the rubble is the key to discovering the wealth of the Tombs. He leaned back again, arms crossed over his chest and head canted sideways. The charms mixed in with his braids swung with each movement his head made.  
  
Is that also where you find the key to getting past the Ottoman Turks without being killed? Because I rather imagine that is going to prove to be something of an issue. Now he was in something of a quandary, and it wasn't entirely linked to his knowledge of how the Turks had treated European captives. Sparrow was indeed right about finding the key beneath the ruins of castle Saranta Kolones, as it was the same key an intrepid batch of Watchers -in-training would use in 1858 to open up the other' passage to the Tombs of the Kings and retrieve the magical artifacts stored there. If Jack Sparrow were to do this a over a hundred years in advance, some very nasty items would go into circulation. On the other hand, there were at least two of those items which would permit limited time travel, and it would really fuck with the establishment if Giles rewrote history.  
  
Decisions, decisions.  
  
Sparrow dismissed the concern immediately. Mate, if the Dutch, the Spanish, and English and French together have never been able to hold me, what do you think I have to fear from the Turks?  
  
_Held you long enough to brand you, obviously_. He hadn't had to look hard to catch a glimpse of the P' branded onto Jack's wrist. Time for a subject change. So if you already know where the key is, and how to use it, what purpose do I serve?_  
  
_ Now you've stumbled onto the crux of our problem. He held out both hands with thumbs up and forefinger extended. Giles knew he was merely trying to emphasize his words, but several years spent with teenage children as his boon companions has trained his eye to immediately pick up on the symbol for Loser'. It seemed so very, very fitting. I know where Cyprus is. I know where the castle is, and I know where the Tombs lie. I do not know, however, where in the ruins the key lies, and how I should go about activating the gem once it's in my grasp._  
_   
So, you had a dream, he said slowly, ticking off each point in his mind as he spoke, that I was going to show up, and that I would assist you in retrieving the lost treasure of the Tomb of the Kings. Now, supposing we do this, and supposing you find the treasure in your possession, _and supposing we don't all die horrid, lingering deaths_, what are your plans for me?  
  
Why, you'll use the a few bits of the treasure to scurry on home, same as you did in me dream. He made everything sound so very reasonable. Giles made a mental note to look up what he knew of Ethan's lineage when/if he got home. He just might have stumbled across a Rayne ancestor.  
  
Your dream included my return home? He studied the pirate with eyes narrowed, a suspicion gaining shape in his mind. There wasn't by any chance a woman in your dream, now was there? Not a prostitute, he quickly overran what Sparrow had been about to say. Skinny redhead, overly fond of leather?  
  
That sounds a right description. You saw her too?  
  
Unfortunately, yes, yes I did. Well that settled that. He'd been handed his ticket home, no sense whining that it wasn't first class. Just have to make the best of it. Then track down Cnossia, and kill her. Slowly.  
He sighed, slumping slightly in his chair. I don't suppose you have any  
Johnnie Walker blue label lying about? The pirate looked at him blankly for a second, the offered him another jug of rum that he'd pulled from under the table.  
  
I suppose I should have your name, he said, as though the idea had just occurred to him.   
  
Rupert Giles  
  
He rolled the r', putting an almost Spanish accent on the name. That's a nice solid English name. May I call you Ru?  
  
Not at any time under any circumstances whatsoever, Giles snapped vehemently.  
  
Perfect, Ru, perfect. Now, his hand hovered over the table until he spotted the book he wanted, do you think you could help me with this one little problem I'm having translating this passage? He flipped the book open and pushed it across the table, tossing a clean leaf of vellum on top of it. Have some ink around her somewhere, know I do. He went off on a round of digging in the chest behind him.  
  
Giles prayed for patience, naming every God he could think of. This was going to be a long, long trip.


	4. Famous last Words

  
A/N: Thanks and virtual truffles to **ShadowElfBard**, **SoraHawk**, **Lucinda**, **Bob the Almighty**, **wllw979**, **jezowen, smile7499** and **Emma Z** for reviewing. Ya'll gave me the nice warm fuzzies.   
  


Chapter 4 - Famous Last Words  
  
We're rascals, scoundrels, villans and knaves.  
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!  
We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs!  
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!   


  
  
Giles had come to a conclusion. Not the most earth-shattering revelation he'd ever stumbled on to, and not as of as great importance as some, but of interest none the less.  
  
Sailing was boring.  
  
Sailing was boring even if you'd just foolishly paid a few hundred pounds for a cruise to an island with a silly name upon a ship with an even sillier name. Sailing was boring even if you were in the middle of a yacht race. Sailing on the Black Pearl? Giles would not only rather take Dawn to see some insipid boy band in concert, he'd bloody well pay for front row tickets.And buy her a souvenir t-shirt.  
  
He'd been on the ship for two weeks now. Two weeks trapped in the Captain's Quarters with Captain Jack bloody Sparrow. Not by choice, oh no, far from it. He'd done his best to make room for himself on every part of the ship he fit into, but luck still wasn't with him. On his first day he'd tried to find a spot on the quarterdeck, out of the way where the crew could work around him. Isabella dragged him to the Captain's quarters six times before noon, claiming that he'd cast a hex and should be killed. Being the selfless team player she was, she volunteered to step forward and perform this unpleasant duty herself. Of course.  
  
He had tried going below decks into the hold, but the dwarf pinched his cheeks - the only ones he could reach - and told him he smelled nice. The gun deck was off reach for similar reasons, a shirtless red-head having demonstrated some things with his tongue and a gap from a missing front tooth that Giles would have rather not seen. Though he couldn't say that the man wasn't talented. He'd lasted on the forecastle deck an hour before the parrot told him to leave. The rest of the ship was eliminated from his list of options section by section, until he found himself once again sitting across from the insane captain. At this point, had Isabella suggested using him as a figure head, he would have patted her shoulder, told her she was clever, and run off to fetch some rope.   
  
Two weeks, and he was wearing the same clothes as when he'd arrived here. Everyone else had been wearing the same outfit for months, so he was still the cleanest person on board, but that was like comparing his ability to speak English to that of a seven year old raised by lemurs. He'd tried to at least wash his underclothes in a bucket of sea water, but that had been such a novel concept to the pirates that half the crew had gathered around to watch him. Including the dwarf and the red head, who had glanced at the underwear in his hands, back at his rear, and then put one and two together into something worth leering over. He decided to put them back on as they were and tried not to think about it in any great detail.   
  
There wasn't much that could be said about the food, except to say that when people ate things like this on television they got to go home with cash prizes. Somewhere around the fifth day he reached the point where he could tolerate the green fuzz on hardtack biscuits, by closing his eyes and telling himself it was raw penicillin. But the mealworms? For God's sake, a man had to draw the line somewhere. Jack had told him that he was a fool when he protested, and had bitten into a biscuit to show that it was safe eating. But that just left half a dead mealworm, and that really wasn't any kind of improvement at all.   
  
On this particular morning a crew member had managed to net a sea turtle, and there had been a general ruckus as to how the meat would be distributed. The Captain took the lion's share, leaving the rest standing around like wolves contemplating a dead elk. There was a positive side to Isabella's constant nattering on about witchcraft and hexes, as Giles discovered. One threat of a curse and he found himself the proud owner of one dead sea turtle. They did seem to be particularly touchy about curses. He took Jack's suggestion and cooked the turtle himself. He found the meat to be a bit rubbery, yet infinitely better then biscuits that moved by themselves after you sat them on the table.   
  
Jack had long since finished his meal (Giles hadn't expected much in the way of table manners from a pirate, but really, he'd seen dogs eat slower) and had his nose stuck in a demonology book. He wasn't sure why, the man barely read English, much less Latin, but he wasn't going to comment as long as it was keeping the man quiet. Not that quiet' was a state of being Jack Sparrow ever dwelled in for long.  
  
You ever seen one of these, Ru? He was around the table before Giles even realized he'd gotten up, shoving the book in his face and spilling his mug over. There were only two small casks of English ale on the entire ship, and he'd traded his wristwatch to Mr. Gibbs for both. It tasted like stale cat piss, but as it was neither rum nor grog the mug's contents were sorely missed.   
  
He mopped the spilled ale up as best as he could with his shirt sleeve, and pushed the book back a bit. Ru has never seen anything, as he doesn't exist except for in your mind. _Rupert_ however, has come across that particular demon once before.   
  
Is it as bad as they say? The picture he had his finger on showed a badly done illustration of a Bezoar hatchling.  
  
Well, to a point. I got a rather visceral satisfaction out of breaking eggs for some time afterwards, but all in all it was fairly mild. Considering I spent two days serving as the host for a demonic being and came out of it without suffering any physical trauma.  
  
Took you over, did it? He brought the book up to his face until his nose was nearly touching the page, studying the illustration. Does look rather small to be taking anyone over, mate. Not saying you were easy, but...   
  
Yes well, it's sneaky, he snapped. Is there a point to this?  
  
Had a fellow I met in Tortuga tell me about one of these livin' under the castle where we're headed. Thought I'd read up on it.  
  
And you only thought to mention it now? _Count to ten, that's it. Think about your blood pressure. _It might have been a fairly decent idea to start preparing for that situation sometime earlier. What were pirates doing discussing demons anyway?  
  
Sparrow shrugged, his usual overdone rolling of the shoulders forward and back like it was an aerobics exercise. Didn't seem much important. I've fought the dead and won, what trouble can I have killing a demon that lays eggs like a chicken?  
  
You'd be surprised. There wasn't anything left of the turtle that he cared to eat, so he walked it over to the door and held the plate out where the crew could see it. It was promptly snatched out of his hand and a fight begun over it. Jack moved back to his previous spot as Giles settled himself down again, pouring through another book. He kicked his legs out in front of him and leaned back, relaxing as much as the wooden chair would allow him to. He'd spent as many nights sleeping here as he had on the floor, as they each made different areas of his body ache. Rotating the spots kept him from becoming a complete cripple. How much longer before we reach land, anyway? And if he heard a day or two one more damn time....  
  
We're a few weeks yet short of Cyprus, but there's a bit of business what that needs doing first.  
  
What? Don't tell me you want to stop and stock up. He'd been shown their approximate location on one of Jack's maps, and while it wasn't the worst spot in the entire Atlantic for them to be in, you could probably see that spot from the quarterdeck. They had been sailing right _through_ the Spanish Main, the strip of ocean territory that marked the main trading route between Spain and it's New World Colonies. Saying this was not a very good place for an English-speaking crew to be found was like saying that it wasn't a very good idea to show up on Angelus's doorstep bearing beer and nachos on Superbowl Sunday.   
  
Sorry mate. We've just been through a fine adventure and the Pearl needs some loving care before we hit the Mediterranean. We'll be running for all we have once we're past Gibraltar. No way for us to dry dock her, so we'll be headed for the north side of Corvo to careen the Pearl. Like all the crew, he spoke of the Black Pearl as though she was a fine lady and not merely the sum of her parts of wood and canvas and pitch.  
  
It sounded like English, he was fairly sure it was English, and yet it made no sense at all. A phenomenon he was quickly growing used to.  
  
Ay, careen.  
  
If I didn't understand you the first time you said it, I doubt repeating the word will trigger an epiphany.  
  
Run her aground so we can scrape off the barnacles and fix what needs it. Captain that had my girl while I was, temporarily disadvantaged, he marked the last two words with finger quotations, leaving Giles puzzled as to where he'd picked up that particular modern gesture, didn't do anything in the way of keeping her up to standards. She's a right sorry mess as she is.  
  
You're going to run the ship ground. Purposely. Jack didn't move to correct him. The trouble obviously lay with the man's logic and not Giles's hearing. Is that really wise?  
  
Run slower than a peg-legged whore if we don't, and we've got to get by the English, French and Spanish navy as well as the Barbary corsairs and the Ottoman ships. It's not a friendly place we're going to, luv. We'll need every bit of speed we can coax out of the Pearl if we're to live to spend our gold in Tortuga. Jack shuffled through the maps that were spread out on the table, pulling one out from the bottom and smoothing it out.   
  
This venture just keeps growing in appeal with every word you say, Giles muttered. It's a wonder they don't market this as a luxury cruise. He walked around the table so that he could get a clear view at the map from over Jack's shoulder.  
  
See, this is where we need to be, Sparrow pointed to Cyprus, nestled up in a small corner formed by the southern side of what would one day be Turkey, and the western side of modern-day Syria. On Jack's yellowed old map the entire area was simply labeled Ottoman' and marked with a little skull and bones as well as other miscellaneous Danger: Stay Away' symbols. Once past the Strait of Gibraltar, they would need to cover the entire length of the Mediterranean to reach the island. This is where we are, he continued, pointing. About a quarter inch short of the Azores islands, a little chain just off the western coast of Portugal. Corvo was the smallest and northernmost of these. We'll be sailing clear until we're in site of the rock of Gilbralter, then the area gets thick with British regulars.  
  
He'd forgotten that Gibraltar was a British colony for a time. That realization triggered another bit of submerged knowledge to rise. What year is it anyway? Specifics, he added. Jack had already told him they were in the Eighteenth century, but hadn't narrowed it down.  
  
Not quite sure. He shrugged again at the annoyed glare Giles gave him. Doesn't really matter much out here, luv. Not like I have to keep track of when to pay me taxes. That idea amused him greatly, and it took nearly a minute for him to quit chuckling to himself. But if I was to make a guess, I'd say 1750 or whereabouts. Think it was a 4' number last time I checked, and that was a few years ago. That make you happy?  
  
The Great Siege of Gibraltar by the Spanish wouldn't start for another twenty or so years. That was rather something he was glad to avoid. Giles went back to his previous spot and sat down again, propping his elbows up on the table and resting his head in his hands. Are you _sure _we have to crash the ship before going on? He'd never been one for whining, but at the moment he was getting an idea of why Buffy enjoyed engaging in it to such a degree.  
  
Careening is a normal bit of sailing, lest ways if you're a pirate. Jack fixed Giles with one of his trademark condescending smiles, as if lack of sailing experience gave Giles the mental faculty of a four-year old. A few days and we'll be off.  
  
I still don't like any of this. Only few drops of ale had stayed in his battered tin mug. He was going to have go back into the hold to get more, and that meant going by the dwarf. _Lovely_.   
  
You worry too much luv, Sparrow said, laughing as he rolled the map back up. What could go wrong? You're with Captain Jack Sparrow!  



	5. Never Say Never

Chapter 5 - Never say Never  
  
We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot.  
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!  
We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot.  
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!   


  
  
Jack was in strange mood, mumbling to himself and stalking around the cabin. It seemed to involve something to with Aztecs and Englishmen, but between the low voice and the accent Giles couldn't pick up much more than that. He put up with nearly two hours of it before he decided that outside was safer for the time being, going out on the forecastle deck for a little fresh air.  
  
Most of the men aboard ignored him, a few making signs to ward off the evil eye before turning away. _Isabella must have been chatty lately. _The redhead waved from where he was coiling rope by the main mast, and Giles hurried on. He would admit to being slightly curious as to the man's name, but was afraid to ask for fear of someone taking it as an expression of interest.  
  
The weather had been evening out as they sailed south and east, becoming closer to what he'd grown used to in California. For once Giles was neither chilled by the wind or fried by the sun, even with his shirtsleeves rolled up to show the whitest arms of anyone present. He still had peeling skin on the back of his neck and on his nose from the last time he'd stood on the deck and been burned to a fine crisp, and he scratched irritably at his neck as he watched the flock of gulls that had been following the ship since morning. Jack had said that he expected to sight land before the afternoon was up, and it looked like the man might actually be right about something.   
  
Giles had been out for nearly an hour when Jack finally emerged from the cabin to take up his usual spot behind the wheel. He couldn't just stand like any normal person, but struck a heroic pose with his feet braced and shoulders back, staring at the horizon with one hand on the worn brass-strapped wheel knobs as if he actually needed to steer. With the way the wind was going the man could have stayed abed until after four and the ship would still be on course, but even Giles had to admit that he looked very...Captain-y at the moment. There. Buffy and Xander would both be proud. He'd made up his very own adjective.   
  
He quickly found himself with some company as the crew made a general migration away from the still-muttering Captain. Those who could fled down below, the gymnastically gifted went up, and the rest came to stand by Giles. He didn't mind Mr. Gibbs, and he was starting to get on good terms with the parrot, but he could have done without the dwarf. He wasn't sure if he should stand with his back or his front to the bowsprit, but decided that he could best defend himself from grabby little hands from the front.  
  
This is good sailing we're having, Mr. Gibbs said, as way of making conversation. The dwarf nodded in agreement.  
  
Not like what we had afore, that's certain.  
  
Was the going that rough before I arrived? The storm Giles had arrived in hadn't been pleasant, but he hadn't heard anything to indicate that the ship had been in trouble before that.   
  
Both men spoke at once, and there was conviction in their voices.  
  
Dead men tell no tales, said the parrot, it's human perch shifting slightly with an unsettled expression.  
  
Well, I'm glad I missed that then. Tell me, what do you think the weather will be like for the rest of the trip?  
  
I've never been to Malta myself, but I've heard it's as nice a trip as it can be, considering who yer neighbors are in that part of the world.  
  
Malta? Who had ever mentioned Malta? Are we stopping over there for supplies? He was confused, and it came through in his tone.  
  
The dwarf looked at him as though he'd been in his cups already. That's where we're headed plain. Cap'n said we'll get ourselves a letter from the Knights, get paid to chase down some of the corsairs as though we're reg'lars drawing pay.  
  
Cap'n keeping secrets! the parrot screeched.   
  
I would have thought he'd have told you, seeing as how you two spend so much time together. Mr. Gibbs was obviously curious as to why this wasn't so.  
  
He only mentioned Cyprus to me. Giles might as well have said that they dressed up in ladies' clothes and sung broadway show tunes into the wee hours of the night. The dwarfs eyes widened, Mr. Gibbs sputtered, and the parrot starting going on about dead men and tales. Parrots were quite loud when they wanted to be, especially when you were right next to one.  
  
The parrot had gotten the attention of several more of the crew, and Giles eyed the growing crowd with no small amount of apprehension. What had he said wrong? Surely they knew that they were sailing for Cyprus. Jack would have said something if he was supposed to lie, wouldn't he?  
  
What is it he said we'd be doing, once we're near Cyprus. The man who spoke was tall, his bare chest covered in tattoos that were reminiscent of the ta moko Giles had seen in books about the Maori. His voice was low and rumbling, with an edge to it.  
  
Giles briefly considered claiming no knowledge and retreating, but even more of the crew was gathering around him, and the expressions on their faces didn't bode well for him if he gave the wrong answer.  
  
He wants to go to Kato Paphos, to see the ruins of Saranta Kolones.  
  
That was obviously the wrong answer.   
  
What's there for us? Mr. Gibbs demanded, stepping closer to Giles. Angry murmurs were starting to run through the crew.  
  
Well, um, treasure. Gold and jewels and the sort. He backed up a step and slipped sideways behind the parrot, but the crowd just rearranged themselves to put him in the center again. He could see Isabella starting to approach.   
  
Why hasn't anyone picked up this treasure before, what with people crawling all over the place? The dwarf sounded suspicious.  
  
Is it cursed? someone demanded. Someone else muttered , and the angry sounds coming from the men grew.  
  
No, not cursed. Just.. _Now how to wiggle free of this one? _It was hard to avoid giving the wrong answer when you didn't know what it was you were avoiding.   
  
It is cursed! He's jus fraid to say it! Isabella yelled from the back.   
  
The crew had heard all they needed to hear, and Giles was no longer the center of attention. He escaped from the crowd with no little relief, and hurried along the main deck to where Jack was standing, still looking heroic and completely oblivious to reality. The shouts from the crew were growing louder.  
  
I think we may be in trouble, he told Jack. The pirate merely raised on eyebrow, and continued to stare through Giles. The crew seemed to be under the impression that we were sailing to Malta.  
  
That got his attention. _Seemed_ to be? As in they no longer are?   
  
Giles gestured to the angry mob. Yes, quite. They were not pleased to learn that we are sailing for Cyprus.  
  
You told them we were sailing for Cyprus? He looked sick.  
  
That is what I just said. They looked like they might revolt.  
  
Jack said absent-mindedly, his full attention now on the crew. Nautical term.  
  
Do you think they will? The redhead had his marlinspike raised over his head, and was leading the rest in a steady chant. Other men were gathering what weapons they could. This was not going to end well.  
  
he shook his head, face sliding back into the old annoying mask of perfect confidence, they'd never do that to Jack Sparrow, not after what we went through before. This is just a spot of trouble, we'll get through it. Just have to talk to them, is all.  
  
  


+  


  
Cursing at it isn't going to make the ship come back. Have some more rum, relax. Giles decided to go through with that suggestion himself. Stuff wasn't so bad after the first half bottle. Got even better once you started in on the second. Nice of Mr. Gibbs to leave them a case of the stuff. Going to have to remember to send him a Christmas card. Man was a right gentleman, he was. Much unlike the git he was presently keeping company with.  
  
Jack had lost his hat at some point during the process of being tossed overboard, and his braids flew in every direction as he shook his fist. Shook his whole arm, really. Man put his entire body into everything he did. She's sailing away from me, AGAIN! Arrrgh! He hopped up and down a few times, then went back to pacing and kicking at rocks. This wasn't having any particular effect on the rocks, but it had resulted in a noticeable hitch in the pirate's stride.  
  
Suit yourself. Giles shrugged, and took another long pull on the rum bottle. Corvo had fresh water, rabbits and whatnot running around for dinner, and it wasn't a ship. As far as he was concerned they had just moved up a step in life.   
  
This is your fault, Jack growled, coming to a stop just in front of the rock Giles was sitting on. He pointed at him, finger nearly touching Giles's nose. The pirate was snarling, nostrils flared like a winded horse. If you had kept your bloody trap shut we'd be busy fixing the Pearl up now and I would STILL HAVE MY SHIP.   
  
Giles swatted his hand away, unconcerned. You're the one who wanted to crash the bloody ship in the first place, and you're the one who decided to make the soddin' cover story the biggest secret of all. All this, he swung the bottle high and wide, encompassing the tiny island in his gesture, is entirely your fault. If you'd thought to tell me that I was supposed to be telling the crew we was on for Malta, then I _wouldn't_ have told them we were headed for Cyprus, now would I?  
  
Jack stared at him for a few seconds, mouth working as he tried to think up a solid comeback. He finally settled for grabbing Giles's arm and wrenching him up to his feet. What the hell do you know? You're drunk.  
  
And you aren't? Giles countered. Jack Sparrow accusing someone of being too pissed was like having Ethan lecture him on the evils of drug use.   
  
Not as drunk as you, Jack muttered. We'll not even be able to catch supper until your breath clears up a bit.  
  
He began rummaging around in his jacket, which was still sopping wet. Giles had gone quietly when Isabella and the dwarf had ordered him onto shore, managing to keep himself dry and warm in the process. It had taken four men to pry Jack's hands off of the wheel and toss him over the side, with Jack kicking and screaming every step of the way. He finally found what he was after in an inside back pocket, pulling his compass out with a smirk of satisfaction and waving it in Giles's general direction, as if it was supposed to prove something.  
  
And those are the current leadership qualifications then? Least drunk leads? He might not be operating at full capacity, but he still knew that a compass was supposed to point north.  
  
No luv, man with the gun and the cutlass leads. He patted the pistol and the short sword that were tucked through his sash, looking entirely too smug. If Giles had been twenty-years younger and sober, he'd have set the man on his ass for that look. He settled for a strongly disapproving look, and a clenched fist.  
  
Jack checked the compass, then started walking towards the south (which was east on the compass), dragging Giles along with him. There's a nice cove on the far side of his place, might be another ship there. Let's go. His tone made it clear that the last bit wasn't optional. Giles went, since he was looking a little psychotic around the edges. Or rather, more. More psychotic.   
  
What are we going to do if we do find a ship? Look at it and say it's pretty? He fell in behind the pirate. It was hard for him to match the man's long stride, and every muscle from heel to hip strongly protested the swift pace. Weeks of malnutrition hadn't helped anything, although if he survived he'd have no trouble getting back into those slacks he'd had put away since his early thirties. Of course, even if he did fit back into them, having the children see him in leather might cause permanent psychological damage. They rarely handled it well when they caught glimpses of his early years. Poor Willow still shuddered whenever she saw he had purchased candy for a fundraiser, and even the most paranoid would have trouble pinning anything on the local Brownie troop.  
  
Jack seemed to take pity on Giles after the first mile, or maybe the constant mumbling was becoming annoying. In any case he did an abrupt about-face, throwing an arm over Giles's shoulder and drawing him close. I'm not happy about walking away from rum either, mate, he said gently, patting Giles on the shoulder as if consoling a small child. Giles stuck his elbow into the man's ribs, to no effect. But right now, we need to be clever and get ourselves free of this place. You do want off this island, don't you?  
  
Does getting off the island mean getting on another ship? He'd gleaned enough from Jack and the crew to know that the Black Pearl was a spacious and well-equipped ship, by the day's standards. Odds were that any other ship he boarded would mean even worse living accommodations.  
  
Aye, that it does.  
  
Then, no. It's rather picturesque. I like it here. And there's rum, back that way. Giles crossed his arms firmly, and nodded. _Going to die anyway, if I get on another boat with _you._ Might as well go out happy. _  
  
Oh, for-! He shoved Giles away and threw up his hands, pleading with some unknown divinity for patience. Giles sought to keep a straight face. Wouldn't do to laugh at the man with the gun and the cutlass after all. Even if the thought of Jack Sparrow praying was better then that Polaroid he had of Ethan passed out drunk wearing a corset and pink bunny slippers. You're too drunk to know what you want. Keep walking, he snapped.  
  
Why won't you just sod off and leave me be, he snapped right back. The whole plan was ruined. They had no chance of ever making it to Cyprus, not that they had any to begin with. Was the man's hair braided too tightly? Couldn't he see that?_  
_  
Well luv, that really requires two people to work properly in the first place. Giles stepped back slightly. People with teeth in that condition shouldn't show them when they leered. And in any case, I'll not be sailing on to Cyprus alone.  
  
You'll not be sailing to Cyprus at all! Are you insane? It was such a simple concept to grasp, really. No crew plus no ship equals no sailing.  
  
Well, yes, but I don't see what that has to do with anything. Quit dragging your feet, we don't have much daylight left. He set off at an even faster pace then before, and Giles found himself having to jog every third or fourth step to keep even with the man. The terrain was mostly level, only the occasional small hill to distort the flat line of the horizon. Still, it was hard going with no road. He had to watch to step around rocks and bushes, judge how far his foot would sink (sand that held his weight and sand that didn't being remarkably similar in appearance) and deal with all the slight unevenness that the land held, since only land altered by men was plumb level.  
  
A rock managed to worm its way into the split seam between his left shoe's sole and leather upper. He hopped on one foot for a few feet, hoping to dislodge it, then finally stopped and pulled the shoe off. It was a pointy rock, and there was already a bruise forming where it had been sticking him right at the base of his big toe. _As if I didn't already have enough injured body parts_. He called for Jack to hold up, since the pirate was quickly disappearing from view, but the man just sped up his walk. Sodding bastard. No reason for his attitude, none at all. How was Giles supposed to know that using the words magic' and treasure' together in the same sentence would spook the crew so badly?  
  
He had to run to catch back up to the pirate, pushing his glasses back in place after every few strides. The frames had been bent all to hell and back, and it was a minor miracle he'd made it this far without loosing them. He prayed his luck held up in that regard.  
  
Corvo wasn't much larger than the city of Sunnydale, and by the time the last light slipped over the horizon the two had covered nearly the entire perimeter. Giles was tired, thirsty, and had a headache that would lay Moloch low. They were coming up on a small harbor formed by a crack in the cliffs, with some familiar looking scenery in the distance. He was fairly sure that if he squinted, he could just make out the rock he'd been sitting on that morning, with the crate of rum still next to it. Nice to know he'd gone on that hike for absolutely no bloody reason whatsoever.  
  
While the harbor was obvious from this side, he could see that the lay of the land would have hid it from anyone on the other. There were small wind distorted trees growing up to about twenty feet from the edge, then bare rock. Jack slowed as he neared the edge, crouching lower before dropping to his belly, crawling up to the edge of the cliff. Giles followed suit, feeling fairly stupid as he did so. Bits of dirt and rock found their way into his shirt almost immediately, and he came to a stop with a bush touching him somewhere women only got to put their hands on after the third date or sixth beer. There just wasn't any possible way to crawl and retain any dignity whatsoever.   
  
Now will you look at her, love? Have you ever seen a prettier sight then that lass down there? Jack sounded as if he was lusting after the damned thing, and Giles was almost surprised to see that both of the man's hands were still visable.  
  
Giles looked down. Between the moonlight and the raging bonfire taking up a goodly portion of the beach, it wasn't hard to see. Even with dinged up glasses. There was a boat in the small harbour, bobbing gently in the incoming tide. A rather short and squat boat, with dirty sails.  
  
He threw his head back and clasped one hand over his heart. Oh, how sings my soul! No woman will ever live up to the glorious splendor that besieges my eyes on this sweet summer night. But alas-! She is taken! I must gather up the splintered shards of my heart and limp back into the darkness to cry out my sorrow to the heavens above. The little boat had a guard around it that was wholly out of proportion to it's ugliness. Rough looking men, all armed to the teeth and then some. Possibly the only thing worse then the thought of sailing into open waters on that glorified rubber ducky was the prospect of having to fight for the privilege. Can we go back to the rum now?  
  
Jack scowled, and tapped Giles alongside the temple with the butt of his pistol. Any more then a tap and Giles would have probably still been face down in the dirt come morning, as it was he merely swayed a bit before catching himself on his elbows. He should have seen that coming. Two weeks without suffering head trauma? He had been grossly overdue.  
  
What the bloody hell was that for?  
  
We need to be serious now, mate. I'll not go riding the black maria on account of you being stupid.  
  
Whatever it was you just said, I assure you that your worries are fruitless. He'd gladly swap the pirate's life for a half-eaten bran muffin, but as long as his own well-being was tied to the bastard he wasn't going to do anything to get him killed. Now, you are planning what, exactly?  
  
We'll just tiptoe our way in there, he used two fingers to demonstrate the path they would take down the cliffs, drawing a small map in the dirt that covered the rock. There was a staircase carved into the rock to their left, but it had been done long ago, the wind having taken it's toll on what were once sharp edges and flat surfaces. Giles wouldn't have been thrilled about going down it even with full climbing gear. Once we're down, we commandeer the ship. Easy as breathing.  
  
Is there any other way down? _Besides falling_.  
  
Jack thought on it for a moment. Well it's risky, you see, but we could go around the base of the cliff edge and on to the beach that ways. Just have to watch the tide and make it quick.  
  
Giles quickly weighed drowning versus falling in his mind. How to we make it down to the base?  
  
Walk back a short bit, and there's a path.  
  
And the men guarding the ship? Someone down below had brought out some rum, and the men were downing it at an incredible rate. That would reassure him, but for the time he'd spent on the Pearl. Pirates could function remarkably well with a blood alcohol level that should have been fatal five times over.  
  
Jack shrugged, as if the concern was of no consequence. Slip right on by them, maybe knock a few on the head on our way through.  
  
Shouldn't we put a little more thought into this? Dead men don't make very good sailors, and I fear we're rapidly approaching that condition.  
  
They're better then you think, better indeed. Sides, odds aren't as bad as what you're thinking.  
  
Now granted, Giles hadn't received the highest marks in his statistics class back at Oxford, but he was fairly sure that two versus twelve wasn't what was generally accepted to be good odds. If he hadn't been tired, sore, unarmed and half-starved, and if Jack had been a certain slim blonde girl from California, he might have been willing to give it a go. He glanced over at Jack again. _I'm going to die.  
_  
Something of his thoughts must have come through to his face, because the pirate gave what was supposed to be a reassuring grin, and clasped a hand around Giles's upper arm. Kohl was running down the sides of Jack's face courtesy of his impromptu bath, and the water had made rivets in the dirt of his cheeks, transforming him into a vision even Dante would have flinched back from.  
  
Relax mate, you're with Cap-  
  
Don't say, he hissed, making a sharp sideways motion with his hand to cut Jack off. Just _don't _say it. Luck hates us as it is, no need to go poking at the woman with a stick. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It didn't go through as smoothly as it should. If he survived this, he was going to put some deli goods in a little cooler, take it with him into the shower, and camp in there for about a week. With the water running full blast. And massive quantities of antibacterial soap at hand. Let's just get this over with, shall we?


End file.
